


Frigid

by silentexplorer18



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bookshop Owner Draco Malfoy, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/M, Kind Draco Malfoy, Orphan Reader, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Winter, homeless Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:15:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21843526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentexplorer18/pseuds/silentexplorer18
Summary: With winter creeping up and leaving a freezing chill in the air, you’re sure this will be your last winter alive.  That is, until one Draco Malfoy appears with a different plan in mind.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 116





	1. Chapter 1

Diagon Alley was cold. _Extremely_ cold.

Fall had come and gone faster than expected, leaving you shivering through the streets as you scavenged for food.

This wasn’t an odd situation for you, really. Nineteen, nearly twenty, and freezing to death, starving to death, in the midst of a magical alley was something you’d grown somewhat accustomed to over the years.

You were cast out in your third year at Hogwarts, family disowning you in favor of the siblings that had accomplished more, been better, followed paths that would bring the family name glory. You couldn’t blame them; they hated you, after all. Life had bestowed different set of values upon your shoulders, a truth none of your relations could bear to accept. And, truthfully, it had been better for you to be on your own than cooped up with people that didn’t believe in you.

Fourth year, you’d become an orphan in the physical sense, as well.

In an unexplainable accident, your parents and siblings all perished in a fiery explosion in the house you’d once called home. You were left with nothing. Of course, what few belongings were left in the house - nothing you possessed any sentiment for - were damaged or willed away to others, so the charred walls were just as foreign to you as the notion that you hadn’t become an orphan the moment you were banished from the doorstep to begin with.

From then on, you continued to scavenge, residing in Diagon Alley and foraging for food as best you could whilst remaining somewhat inconspicuous. Well, as inconspicuous a child wandering around in a tattered Hogwarts uniform through summer could.

People noticed, of course. People _saw_ you. But they didn’t really _see_ you. They noticed a hungry beggar scrapping for anything she could get her hands on, not a young witch with the possibility of accomplishing great things. Those feelings were reserved for children that at least could find some sort of lodging over their summer holiday, whether it be people like Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom returning to homes or Harry Potter and Hermione Granger staying with their companion Ron Weasley.

So here, at nearly twenty, it really wasn’t all that surprising that you were gathering loose fabric and lost garments from the ground to create a small nest of warmth in a secluded nook off Diagon Alley. Really, it hadn’t mattered to much of anyone that you’d been here all these years, nor did anyone mind that you hadn’t found a way out of poverty and desperation.

Which meant this, your first winter not residing in the moderately warm walls of Hogwarts, would be the winter you froze to death.

It seemed almost fitting, really, as the snowflakes flurried around your stooped form, that you should die in the exact opposite manor of your family.

You’d found two more lost scarves and a tattered blanket to add to your small pile, and someone had dropped part of a pastry near the drain. It was already frozen when you’d recovered it, but a meal was a meal, and hopefully it would at least pull you through to another day.

What you hadn’t noticed after you’d scooped up the half eaten pastry, no doubt discarded by some witch or wizard in favor of getting out of the cold, was the pair of familiar eyes watching your figure retreat back toward the alcove, warm fabrics in hand as you made your way to the little pile of belongings. It was beginning to get a little late, nearly seven, and it was time for you to hunker down to try to survive another frigid night.

Nestling into the corner, you began the ritualistic practice of tucking yourself into the haphazard fabrics, desperately attempting to keep a little heat in. The first scarf was wrapped around your feet, mummifying them carefully to prevent frostbite as much as possible. Next, a coat was tucked around your legs, another coat and cloak both donning your torso. Two moth eaten blankets then covered your entire figure, hat and scarf wrapping up to keep your head and neck from getting too frostbitten.

As cozy as you could possibly get against the frozen ground, you whispered a small heating charm; it was weak, wandless magic, but it was the best you could do. Your wand had been lost at the Battle of Hogwarts, and you hadn’t the money to replace it after the war. You’d been a bright witch during your time at school, though not nearly as bright at Hermione. But now, here, with nothing but simple wandless magic, you felt as foolish as a first year, a muggle even.

As warm and situated as you could manage, your gloved hands, fingers worn away from use, grasped the frozen meal you’d managed to procure, and you bundled up with it tightly against the wind whipping across the stones, bringing the smushed pastry up to your chapped, windburned lips.

“What in Salazar’s name are you doing?” a voice cut through the air.

Jumping, you instinctively reached for your wand. A wand you didn’t have.

However, you relaxed slightly at the sight before you, at a man you knew would never _choose_ to hurt you.

Draco Malfoy.

The look he was sending your way was one of absolute horror, and it took every ounce of strength to not morbidly laugh at his shock. This had been your life for years, and here he was gaping at something so utterly commonplace to you.

But he hadn’t noticed before.

Of course he’d be shocked.

While some found Draco Malfoy incredibly rude and foul tempered during their time at Hogwarts, you found Draco civil at best. He had by no means liked you or enjoyed your company, but he made a wonderful partner in shared classes, and he’d been remarkably civil toward you in all other interactions. The truth was, you weren’t afraid of him. You never had been. Not even after it had been revealed that he was working for Voldemort. It seemed silly, really, to even think of the reason why, but his home had been quite similar to your own, and you had faith that he wouldn’t hurt you.

But that didn’t stop him from judging you apparently.

“I’m eating,” you said softly, hands resting the pastry against the blankets on your stomach.

He gave you another gaping, incredulous look as you eyed him warily, unsure where this conversation was going. “But it’s rubbish. I saw you pull it from the gutter, and I _know_ it wasn’t you who dropped it there.”

Your eyebrows arched, a challenging look settling across your face. “I’m eating, Draco. If you’re just going to mock my palette, please leave me be.”

“Why don’t you eat at a restaurant?” he queried, the same stubborn, challenging look he’d often given off as a child washing across his pale features.

“I haven’t the money for that right now.”

He paused, eyes flickering briefly, an emotion you couldn’t quite place twisting the muscles in his face before he spoke again. Voice soft, nearly shy, but also remarkably positive, he stated, “Then come have dinner with me.”

A wary look tensed your brows again, settling a nervous frown across your lips, but when his gloved hand - black with luxurious leather - outstretched for your own, you took it, placing your frozen pastry on one of the blankets.

You were standing now, shivering despite yourself against the cold, as the blond took in your semi-tattered appearance. Gently, his arm wrapped around your shoulders as he began to lead you toward a nearby restaurant. He’d eat anything if it meant getting you out of the glacial weather.

* * *

Dinner was actually rather nice, and Draco was surprisingly quiet about all he’d seen in the alley. Instead, the both of you swapped Hogwarts stories, reminiscing over education. Ever the gentleman, Draco had ordered for you, soup and bread filling your stomach and radiating heat into your frozen bones. He liked the way your face brightened with the food, your smile seeming warmer as it curled your lips.

He liked it when you smiled.

Although you wished desperately that you could pay for the meal, not burden Malfoy with your financial predicament, Draco made no scene of it, merely pulling enough from his pocket to cover the whole check and providing the waitress a curt nod of approval when she thanked him for the tip.

In a flash, it seemed to be over as quickly as it had begun, and Draco’s voice was breaking through your reminiscent thoughts as the two of you stepped out into the bitter weather.

“May I accompany you back to your home? I’d like to know you get there safely, as it’s snowing so much tonight.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Draco, you’ll be able to see me just fine here from the overhang. My little nook is only up the street a bit, remember?” Your hand casually pointed toward the place he’d found you before, and his face hardened in recognition.

“That’s where you’re _staying_? It’s freezing out here!”

“I know. Hence why I had so many blankets.”

His face looked pained, cheeks reddening from the whipping wind, as he contemplated your words. “You could freeze to death out here.”

Although you tried your best to sound lighthearted in response, Draco could sense the somber undertone of your words, the concern you were attempting to mask. “That’s occurred to me.”

He paused briefly, and you could see the gears turning in his mind, ever the calculated Slytherin. “Come home with me tonight.”

“I’m sorry?” you asked, eyes widening comically.

His hair was tousled from the wind, cheeks and nose a rosy pink against the frosty air, and it seemed like he was doing everything in his power to avoid visibly shivering. “Come home with me. Stay the night in my home. It’s not as large as the manor, but there’s ample space for you.”

“I couldn’t impose, Draco,” you began, biting your lip uneasily.

“At least then we’ll both get some sleep, you being warm and very much alive in my home, and me not up all hours of the night worrying over your health.” His face seemed to get redder at that, even though it was already a bright crimson from the weather. With his embarrassment, your expression softened.

With a small sigh, you nodded, trying to avoid acknowledging at the satisfied grin slipping over the blond’s features. “Okay, fine. But just because it’s so bloody cold out here.”

Wrapping a protective arm around your shoulder, keeping you from vanishing into the night, he smiled to himself. “Then let's find a floo and get us both somewhere warm.”


	2. Chapter 2

Draco’s home was not at all what you envisioned it to be.

You’d pictured him in some lavish estate, something akin to the manor, though possibly a bit smaller. He’d always seemed to prefer it that way; luxury and cleanly poise greeted him at every corner of his youth. However, the flat was nothing similar to that.

Warm. It was warm, you realized, as your fingertips stung with the telltale burn of frozen skin meeting hot air. With a wave of his wand, the lamps were flickering to life, a golden glow settling across your skin as you took in your surroundings. The space was cramped, cluttered in the clean sort of way an organized person deals with having more important belongings than they know what to do with.

Kindly, he took your coat, hanging it in the closet by the door. It, too, was cramped, with assorted wintery gear and board games peeking out from shelves and boxes. Smiling kindly, he pointed you toward his living room, gazing in dismay at the way your old Hogwarts uniform hung from your figure, still ragged and dirty from the battle in May.

He _really_ wanted to help you.

He’d never realized how little you possessed; he never noticed how impoverished you’d become.

Leaving you in the living room, he rushed off toward the kitchen to make some tea. His absence provided you with ample time to wander around, ogling the novels on his shelves, books in piles on the floor. Stacks of newspapers, swirled across the coffee table, the moving images flowing in inky loops across the page. Trinkets galore and mismatched furniture decorated the room, making the whole space seem a little more lively.

Sinking down onto his charcoal colored couch, you felt the tingle of magic against your skin. He’d charmed it. Even if the styles couldn’t match, he could at least make the colors of his furniture look somewhat similar. You let yourself bask in that feeling for a moment, the sensation of magic. It had been a long time since you’d been able to feel it dancing against your fingertips and swirling against your flesh. You missed it.

* * *

The tea had been bitter, a strange variety you’d never encountered before, but it seemed to settle Draco’s nerves to see you sipping it. On all accounts, he’d been interested, curious, even, about your current living situation, but there was a part of him that seemed distracted, like he was worrying over something he couldn’t bring himself to mention.

In the space of his own home, he’d grown more awkward than anything else, unsure of how to proceed. It was strange to see Draco awkward.

After tea, he walked you through the flat, showing you the various rooms. In addition to his living room and kitchen, he had a small dining room and bathroom downstairs and an office filled to the brim with books, a spare bedroom, a bathroom, and his bedroom upstairs. It was quaint, homey in a way your childhood home had never been. You suspected the Malfoy manor hadn’t been particularly homey, either.

He offered you clothes and a towel for the shower, and you gratefully accepted them. The hot water was nice, refreshing, and you relished in the sensation of it skittering across your skin. It had been months since you were able to feel clean. His soap was vanilla scented, a smell you now realized seemed to radiate through the house. It made you smell fresh, alive, and the bubbly soap did a number to improve the look and feel of your skin, perpetually grimey from a life on the streets.

* * *

Draco was in the living room when you left the bathroom. His eyes were skittering across the page of a worn book, delicate fingers gripping the bindings. He seemed content, you thought, without the usual scowl that adorned his face at Hogwarts. Really, he appears better now, steadier on his feet than he was back then, and that realization brings you relief. Of all the reasons to hate the Malfoy, his affiliation with Voldemort was something you’d been a little more capable of overlooking; it was expected of him. Had you been with your family still, you would most likely have experienced the same fate.

“What are you reading?” Your voice was soft, but it still seemed too loud for the quiet of the room.

He glanced up in surprise before his gaze returned to the dusty pages. “It’s an old novel, something Mother picked up somewhere.” With a thunk, the pages fell shut. “You can charm those clothes, if you’d like,” he offered gently, “make them a size more comfortable.”

You shook your head, smoothing your hands down the soft fabric. “Even if I could, I wouldn’t want to. They’re quite comfortable as they are. Thank you, though.”

He nodded before his brow furrowed. Confusion washed across his face. “Why couldn’t you?”

“No wand.” You held your hands out in front of you, palms open, the gesture surprisingly vulnerable, and he realized then that he hadn’t seen you with a wand all evening.

“Did you leave it in Diagon? We can go retrieve it-” He was already making to get up, mind whirling at how dreadful it had been after the war to not have a wand of his own. Thankfully, Ollivander had been forgiving enough to offer Draco a replacement - with Potter’s prompting, of course.

Your laugh startled him out of his thoughts. “I can’t leave what I didn’t have. It was lost in the battle.”

“But that was months ago!”

You were quiet for a moment before you spoke, eyes fluttering with recollection, “Yes, yes it was.” Moving opposite of him on the couch, your face remained emotionless.

When he spoke again, his words were much more measured. “Why didn’t you attain a new one?”

“With what money?”

He nodded. That was that, then.

“So what are you thinking of for your future?”

“Honestly, I haven’t the faintest idea. I’m just hoping to make it through winter.”

The truth of your situation was brutal, and Draco felt heat creep into his cheeks, the heavy sensation of guilt pooling in his abdomen. How could he have spent all that time living in the manor, moving on after the war, bettering himself, when you were out living on the streets? In a Hogwarts uniform, no less. He wanted better for you.

* * *

The next morning, he cooked breakfast. Much to your delight, the meal was hearty and warm, filling you with energy. You expected him to throw you back to the streets after the meal, but, in fact, he did just the opposite. After eating, he offered you a cozy coat and took you to a shop.

Despite your arguing he shouldn’t buy you anything, he purchased some clothes, taunting you with the most garish ones until you stepped in and chose something more sensible for yourself.

Then he took you ‘round his work, leaving you to gape at the massive amount of books on the shelves and hidden tidbits of information magic hadn’t left untouched. There you saw more of Draco’s kindness as he helped customers with orders and provided expert opinion on which novels to choose. If he didn’t have something the patron wanted, he made sure to make a note to obtain it.

Lunch was sandwiches and novels, where you danced among bookshelves and lavished in the charmed walls that kept the chill out of the air, and Draco found himself having to resist the temptation to smile at your profound wonder for the little shop.

That evening he left you curled up on his couch with a book on dragons while he wrote a secret letter to Harry Potter asking if there was any way Ollivander would be welcome to offering you a wand that Draco would pay for.

He hoped the man would say yes.

* * *

It only took a few days of you helping in Draco’s shop for him to realize just how bright you were. Quick witted and well versed in information beyond the standard Hogwarts curriculum (you’d always possessed a fondness for reading), the blond realized you made an excellent partner.

While at first he was merely sympathetic of your situation, just wanting to help you back on your feet, he found himself hoping more and more that you wouldn’t mind staying even after you had stabilized. Your perspective, though different than his own in many ways, was interesting, challenging, and constantly kept his mind at work.

Even when he couldn’t see you, he could hear you giggling with patrons through the stacks, offering treats to children that came with their parents. You’d casually mentioned the idea of running a children’s reading program, among others, while shelving with him one evening, and the delight in your eyes when he didn’t turn away the thought made his heart swell.

* * *

Potter owled back not too long after that.

He offered to pick you up from Draco’s flat and take you to see Ollivander. Unsurprisingly, the wandmaker wasn’t keen on the notion of seeing a Malfoy again. Despite his best efforts to not be disheartened, Draco felt rather forlorn he wouldn’t be able to watch a wand choose you.

It always was rather magical.

* * *

You greeted Potter warmly, though somewhat confused, when he arrived at Draco’s home. Neither had been close in school, you recalled.

The blond insisted he had things to do around the house, but encouraged you to go out with Harry. He was kind but send scathing jests in Harry’s direction. A defense mechanism, you assumed, leaving you even more confused about why Harry had appeared on Draco’s doorstep.

While you retrieved your scarf from your bedroom, Draco slipped a pouch of coins into Harry’s hand. Enough for your wand. And despite his grumpiness that _Potter_ of all people was taking you to get your wand, his heart swelled at the fact that you’d been hesitant to go without him. He liked that you preferred him over Boy Wonder.

You didn’t miss the pointed look Draco sent Harry before the door was shut. A silent reminder to take care of you.

* * *

Harry was stiff and somewhat awkward as he walked with you down the street, but he did his best to engage in small talk. You tried to be polite with the him, but, truthfully, you’d never been close with Harry in school, and you hadn’t the faintest idea why he offered to spend time with you.

Eventually, the two of you arrived in front of Ollivander’s.

“We’re here,” he stated, gazing up at the face of the old building.

Your eyes shot to his. “What are we doing here?”

“We’re getting you a wand.”

You tried to protest, but Harry wasn’t hearing it. Instead, he ushered you into the shop and up to Ollivander’s counter.

The man was kind, welcoming, as he pulled out boxes and offered you a few choices. Your hands slid across the delicate woods, the sensation rippling memories through your muscles. When the unmistakable surge of magic swept across your skin, both you and the wand just _knew_.

Ollivander’s smile was a familiar one as he watched the air swirl around you. He recognized the glow in your face, the light in your eyes. It wasn’t the same warmth a child would possess, being given a new piece of themselves; he was giving you back a part of yourself that you’d once lost. 

Harry came forward, breaking both of you out of your trances. He set the bag of money on the counter, coins clinking quietly. You were already reacting, turning to grab his arm. “Harry, please, you don’t need to pay for me.” It came out as more of a plea than anything else, a pesky desire to not inconvenience anyone.

“I’m not. Draco is.”

And before you could argue another word, he whisked you out of the shop, wand in hand, and took you back to the flat.

* * *

Inwardly, you sighed in relief at being home. But it wasn’t home. It was _Draco’s_ home, you kept reminding yourself. It was just temporary; you didn’t belong in his space.

He was in his study doing paperwork when you barged in. “You shouldn’t have paid for me, Draco.” You weren’t angry, per say, more aggravated that you couldn't pay him back for all he’d done.

His eyes met your own, annoyance leaking into his voice. “Potter _told_ you?”

“Yes.”

He looked upset, frustrated with Harry, but didn’t make to speak.

Stepping a little further into the room brought his attention back to you. “Why did you buy me a wand?”

His body stiffened, mind traveling back to another time, and he grew quiet. “I remember what it was like after the war, not having magic. A wand. It- it wasn’t easy,” he paused, “I didn’t want you to continue going through the same experience.”

You nodded in understanding. “Thank you,” you said, genuinely meaning it. Turning, you sat in one of his chairs, curled amongst the books, gazing at the caramel colored wood in your palm, grateful for everything he’d done and knowing a simple ‘thank you’ wasn’t even close to portraying just how thankful you were.

“You aren’t mad, are you?” For the first time in a long time, Draco looked unsure, and the expression softened your heart even more.

Shaking your head, you replied, “No, not at all. I just really wish there was some way I could repay you.”

“Then stay.” The words tumbled from his lips before he could even think about what he was doing.

“What?”

His face colored, ruby red streaking up his neck. “Stay. Come work in the shop with me.”

“I’m already doing that,” you chuckled.

“But after you save up money, too.” He looked so nervous, flustered, an emotion that you were sure you reciprocated, but he seemed so genuine that he wanted you around that you knew he wasn’t just offering for your sake.

“Okay.”

* * *

A year later, you were walking through the familiar cobbled paths of Diagon Alley, wind spiraling the lightweight snow against the walls of shops and across the faces of unsuspecting patrons.

Turning a corner, you came upon the familiar nook you’d once spent your childhood growing in. Your pile of old blankets was gone, a few dried leaves stuck in the crannies against the bricks here and there. It seemed more grimey than it had been when you were residing there, but otherwise, it looked the same. Little traces of your charms lingered against the chilly bricks, remnants of your youth.

Breaking you from your trance, an arm wrapped around your shoulders and Draco’s voice echoed through your ears. “Are you ready to go home, darling? I think we’ve done enough holiday shopping for one day.”

You nodded, giving him a faint smile as he pecked your temple. He offered to carry your bags, leading you away from the dark alleyway with the gentlest of pulls. And you realized that through all the time you’d been on your own, a little help was all you needed to get back on your feet. Draco had saved your life, but your kindness, your bright presence and innovate mind, was something he needed in his life, too. You both needed each other, and you were just lucky Draco had found you in time.

He shivered as the two of you rounded the corner on your way back to the flat, “Thank goodness. It’s positively frigid out here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! You can also find me on [Tumblr](https://silentexplorer18.tumblr.com/)!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this wintery fic! You can also find me on [Tumblr](https://silentexplorer18.tumblr.com/). I hope you're having a good day!


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